


Stay a While

by DustToDust



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few things Cullen can say no to, and the simple plea from the Inquisitor is not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay a While

**Author's Note:**

> Was asked for Cullen having no idea what he's doing but wanting to lift some weight from the Inquisitor's delicate shoulders. Mahanon is not delicate, but he certainly seems so when put up against the mass of Cullen.

"Don't leave," he says and for all their differences Cullen knows exactly what is being asked of him by the Inquisitor. His eyes are bright even in the dimness of his quarters where the only light comes from the moon through the elaborate windows to reflect in his large eyes. It's dim enough to wash out the vivid color of them and facial markings, but not enough to allow Cullen to pretend he can't see the emotion in them.

Pain, exhaustion, a threadbare bit of hope so thin it might as well be snapped. _Loneliness_. It's in his eyes and etched into every line of his lithe body. Still far too thin after all these month even given the slim build of elves. The weight of the world rests on that far too fragile frame and it shows by the slump of his shoulders and the roundness of his back.

Cullen can't find anything in him to refuse this simple request to help relieve some of that.

"Alright," the word almost sticks in his throat regardless as he steps forward. Reaching out hesitantly and feeling relieved when he doesn't have to decide where to rest them first as Mahanon quickly makes his own space in Cullen's arms. The top of his head rests just under Cullen's chin and it's easy to allow it. To embrace the man without thought or wondering of what to do.

A hug is a simple enough thing to give.

Though it is not all that is being asked for Cullen reminds himself as he feels warm, slightly cracked lips press insistently against his throat. They drag and catch on his skin until a point of wet heat swipes across it. A _tongue_. Cullen groans, and his hands, so careful before, grip tight enough to bruise at the sharp spike of want that produces before his reason reasserts itself.

"Is this alright?" Mahanon asks. Murmuring the question into his flesh even as Cullen feels clever fingers --nimble with lock picks and daggers equally-- find the gaps in his armor and clothing. The tips calloused from firing arrows press hard into him and Cullen feels the sharp need to take it all off. To drop his armor and clothing to give Mahanon more to touch.

"Yes," Cullen answers redundantly because he has no idea what else to say. No idea what to _do_ here. Mahanon is no coyly chaste woman content with adoring looks and the brush of lips against her fingers. He is no woman paid by the hour, knowing everything already and unashamed of it all. He is not them in ways that go beyond simple gender.

As inexperienced as Cullen is with the male body it's not the surprising firmness of the body under his hands that makes him feel lost right now. Not the deepness of his voice or the rather pointed way Mahanon moves against him. Lust and affection are easy things to deal with and he rarely trips up over them when it is just one present.

What trips him and keeps him from reacting the way his body so clearly wants is the memory of Mahanon's smile. Wide and warm, and the way it had made Cullen fumble for words the way he hasn't since he last saw a pretty mage in Kinloch. The easy way Mahanon has with words even when Cullen's own awkward silences should have ended the conversation with a misunderstanding. Something more than simple lust, and far more than mere affection. He, _this_ , matters and Cullen finds himself freezing from uncertainty.

"Please," Mahanon says. A whispered coaxing and plea all in one. Neither of which Cullen rightly knows what to do with, but fingers thread in his hair and he obeys the insistent tugging. Angles his head down and loses himself into the hungry kiss. Let's the warm slide of their lips ease some of the thoughts racing in his mind.

Mahanon tastes like the spice of roasted meat from dinner and the slight bitterness of ale. Cullen moans at it and brings one hand up to cradle his head. To tilt it back enough that the kiss deepens so that he can try to find the sweet taste of the candies he'd seen the man filch from Sera. It's faint, under his tongue, the taste of lemon and maybe honey.

The kiss breaks when they fall on the bed. Cullen doesn't have time to wonder which of them is responsible for it. He's too busy trying not to crush the smaller man with his weight though Mahanon does little to help. His eyes are shining with more than just the reflected light as he wraps one leg around Cullen. Pulling them close and _rolling_ up in a way that makes Cullen's locked arms tremble and his resolve -- vague as it is-- falter.

"Wait," Cullen groans as he swells, uncomfortably hard in his trousers as he feels an unmistakable matching hardness pressed against him. Barely felt through his armor and leathers. Lips press against his neck. Trailing up to his jaw and Cullen shudders as sharp teeth rake over him. Mahanon groans, deep and lovely sounding, as Cullen thrusts down sharply. "Maker! Let me get my armor off at least."

Cullen feels the shift of weight almost before he finishes his sentence, and laughs, more than a bit breathless, as Mahanon's hands make short work of the breastplate. He growls a little when Cullen pushes himself up and away to pull the plates off, and refuses to let go with his leg. It's easy enough to pull the plate off --Cullen winces when it falls right off the bed to clatter on the floor-- not as easy getting the coat off. A matter made harder when Mahanon starts in on the gauntlets.

He feels almost cold when the other man's leg tightens. The only warning Cullen gets before they're rolling. Stopping only when Cullen's on his back and Mahanon straddles him. Moving already or still, and Cullen splays his hands out over his sides. Gripping onto the warm cotton of his shirt tightly because the friction is sweet enough to make his breathing stutter.

Mahanon's eyes are voracious and impatient, and Cullen doesn't think his words would be heard if he could even voice them. He rolls up to meet him, groaning as he pushes up. The shirt moves under his hands, and Cullen's caught a bit at the sight of his bare stomach. He wants to pull it off but there's not enough coordination left in him to do more than keep reaching up. To grab his shoulders and pull him down into another hungry kiss.

A strangled sound escapes Mahanon. The angle does nothing but limit their movement, but Cullen doesn't care. He needs surprisingly little to reach his end, and doesn't want to give up the kiss. To give up being completely surrounded. Hot breath escaping from between them, the surprising weight against his chest pinning him down, and the mind melting press of their clothed cocks grinding.

"Cullen, yes!" Mahanon moans between them, and the sound of his name is like lightning. Cullen feels his back arch up as he spills between them. Surrounded by the smell and sounds of Mahanon who shudders and makes a few sounds that could be words or just noises.

They're a limp, wrung out mess when Cullen's mind feels up to acknowledging anything more than the spreading warmth of pleasure. Lazy and decadent as Mahanon settles against his chest. Making a discontent noise when Cullen shifts slightly. Cullen chuckles and shifts again, hiding a wince at the feeling of the mess in his trousers in the silky hair pressed against his face. "My sword is digging into my side. You should have allowed me to take it off."

"You can take it off now," Mahanon says slowly and seems to make a monumental effort to shift away from Cullen's right. Easing the pressure of the blade that is becoming uncomfortable now that there is nothing more pleasing to take his mind from it.

Cullen hesitates and a hand comes up to press on his chest. "Stay. Please."

Cullen cannot refuse.


End file.
